


Angel Eyes

by anddirtyrain



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5660113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anddirtyrain/pseuds/anddirtyrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver Queen, heir to a fortune and used to living in luxury, does not belong in the Glades Memorial public hospital. It is unfortunately where he wakes up after a car accident leaves him bedridden, but luckily for him, he’s not alone in his room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> My 2nd fic for the OFBB! Enjoy!

His hands are covered in blood.  
There’s a piece of metal lodged in his side.  
His mom is going to kill him.

Those are the only three things that register in Oliver Queen’s mind before the licks of pain bring him under.

 

 

 He slowly opens his eyes.

Everything feels heavy. He’s not sure where he is, or who he is, or what’s happened. He tries to move, but something won’t let him.

Bright white light blinds him when his eyes open, and as he looks around he realizes he’s in a room. Dull yellow wall on his left side, a white roof with an uncovered light fixture overhead- the source of the light and his discomfort. Black spots dance along his vision as he tries to blink them away.

There’s a noise behind him. A ‘tic, tic, tic’ that takes over his senses and becomes the only thing inside his head. He tries to find the source of the noise, but he can’t. His eyes get tired and slip closed.

He breathes. Feels his chest go up and down with each exhale and inhale. Little by little, memories arrive. Faint, frail. The smell of gasoline, of burnt rubber and smoke. The taste of blood, sharp and metallic on his tongue, and so much of it. The sound of metal twisting on itself, the pure fear he felt when he saw the lights and knew it was too late-

It’s a clash against how he feels now, so utterly detached from everything.

He opens his eyes, the only body part he’s aware of. Looks around again, farther than before. The light is still there, the walls. The room is bigger than he expected, and if he stretches his eyes he can see another bed beside him. He gets tired.

He’s about to start counting the rectangles on the roof when a slash of pain so acute it leaves him gasping runs throughout his entire body. He can feel them now, his legs, his arms, his head, all bursting with the uncontrollable pain.

“Aaahhh!” The sound leaves his throat without consent, and the intensity astounds him. Another scream builds in his chest, ready to explode.

Somewhere next to him- a voice calling for help.

A loud bang sends another shiver of pain through his very bones, the door opening violently. Two white blurs fly to him, cover him.

“Mr.Queen, are you listening?” The bothersome light is in his eyes again, more potent than before. “You’re in Glade’s Memorial Hospital. You had an accident not too far from here, they brought you in last night.”

The Glades? What the hell is he doing in a hospital in The Glades? Sudden panic grasps him when he realizes he can’t really move his legs, his body. He tries to sit up, but the woman pushes him back down on the bed. He tries to speak but she just pats his shoulder, and he can’t shake her off.

“Rest, I just gave you something that should help with the pain.”

Her words blur together, fade - he sinks back under.

 

  
When he opens his eyes again, the room is dark. There’s a shadow on the bed next to him, small and curled up. A boy, by the looks it. It hits him then with a flash of sudden clarity the last hours -or is it days? How long has he been here?- haven’t afforded him.

He’s in the Glades, in a public hospital, and there’s someone else in his room.

“I see you’re awake, Mr. Queen.” A voice says, and he’s startled to find a tall man at the foot of his bed, dressed in scrubs. Is that his doctor? “How are you feeling?”

“What happened?” he asks. His throat feels like sandpaper.

“You were in a car accident,” the man tells him. His memory fails him, wisps of it contain smoke and motor oil, but he can’t put them together.

“My car, where is it?” he asks. He’s in the middle of a shitty neighborhood, who knows how long would it take for those people to disappear his most prized possession.

“It was a total loss, I’m afraid,” the man says. “Is that all you’re worried about? Aren’t you going to ask if there were other people involved? Or how are you?”

Oliver stops listening at ‘total loss’. His father is going to kill him.

“When am I leaving?” he asks, dreading the conversation with his parents but eager to get out of the whole he’s been put in.

“Excuse me?”

“When am I leaving?”

“Mr.Queen…”

A woman walks through the door, dressed in a white coat.

“Johnny,” she greets warmly the man at the foot of his bed. “I see our most famous patient is awake again. Hello, Mr.Queen. I’m Lyla Michaels, I’ll be your doctor while you’re here.” She whips out a small flashlight, and Oliver is blinded by the small but potent light.

“You suffered some serious injuries,” she says. “You’re very lucky.”

“What injuries?” He blinks and looks down at his legs, but he can’t really feel them. He’s almost afraid to hear the answer. The doctor picks up a chart from the front of his bed while the man checks on the kid next to him.

“Your left leg is broken in two different places, hairline fractures in your right leg and a dislocated foot, the toes on that foot were badly crushed in the accident, too, but we manage to salvage them.”

“How long…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but she understands him.

“It’s hard to say, 12 weeks at the very least.” 12 weeks. Loud static fills his ears, something like desperation climbing up his spine. He’s suddenly painfully aware of the fact he can’t move his lower extremities, and the room feels stifling hot.

“Does my family know I’m here?” This is just a public hospital, there must be someone who can get him back to normal faster. And even if there isn’t- and he can hardly bear to think that way- at least he won’t be here. They’ll get him home.

“The police has been trying to reach your parents, but it hasn’t been possible yet, I’m afraid.” Abu Dhabi. He remembers now. Their vacation.

“Your lawyer was informed, however. I can get John to explain later, but right now I need to finish my rounds. How are you feeling?”

Oliver’s head spins. His parents are going to kill him when they find out he wrecked the Lamborghini and landed himself in the hospital. And Thea. He’s such an asshole for putting her through this.

“Listen, I need you to call my lawyer.”

“Mr.Queen, I’m your Doctor. I need to-”

“Look, I can pay you.” He knows how this works. People will do everything for money, and he’s not above using it to get what he wants.

“Oh boy,” the man -Johnny?- says.

“Mr.Queen, with all due respect I already get paid for looking after my patients, and for the time being you’re one of them-”

“Look at the piece of shit place you work in, you can’t tell me you don’t need some-” a sharp pain in his ribs makes him gasp.

“Mr.Queen, I know you just went through a trauma, but I don’t accept this type of behavior. Your lawyer signed the papers this morning,” the woman- Dr.Michaels- says. “For the foreseeable future, you’re with us. And you’re not the only patient in this room, so show some respect and lower your voice. I’ll be back later.”

She leaves and Oliver feels chastised.

“She served in Afghanistan, you know? You don’t want to get on her bad side.”

He gets a promise out of the nurse to call Tommy, to try and get a hold of his lawyer. His cell-phone is gone, so are his belongings. He’s stuck.

 

 

Another nurse comes in half an hour later. He’s discovered the source of the ticking that enthralled when he first woke up is an old plastic clock right in the middle of the room, between the two beds. Calculating how many hours he’s spent there already gives him a headache.

It’s a pretty woman, with black hair and eyes. She pulls the catheter out and Oliver’s very glad he didn’t try to drop her a line beforehand. She leaves. Comes back. He’s got nothing to do but wait. She closes the curtain in the middle of the room, obscuring his side from the light of the only window. Through one of the cracks left he can see a body. Or at least part of it.

A pale back, the vertebrae stretching the skin. The nurse rubs a sponge across the protruding bones and he looks away. It shakes him. He doesn’t want to be there.

 

  
“Can I get a private room until I leave?” he asks the woman before she leaves, looking at the shapeless form beneath the sheets on the neighboring bed. He closes his eyes, his head is pounding.

“There is nothing private here,” she says, just the hint of an accent. She pushes something in his IV, and the pain slowly fades away.

“Can’t you get this…” he thinks for a few seconds, “kid out of here?”

She chuckles, but it doesn’t sound friendly. “Impossible. We’re at full capacity.”

“And if I pay?” he pushes on. It’s so thoroughly shocking to be in such close quarters with strangers, a sick one no less. It makes the not-knowing worse. When is his lawyer coming back? When is his family getting wind of the dumpster he’s been left at? “You know who I am. I’m Oliver Queen.”

“This is a public hospital, Mr.Queen. Things don’t work like that here. You’re lucky you’re in the ICU, anywhere else and you would have four or five roommates. As it is, sometimes we put an extra bed over there,” she says, pointing at the empty space near the door. “Now, excuse me, but I have things to do.”

He’s left alone again, and it’s not long until exhaustion pulls him back under.

 

  
His eyes meet bright blue. It’s the most color he’s seen in this room so far, with its dull yellow walls and white lights. His eyes focus and he realizes they’re a pair of eyes, big beautiful eyes, like in some painting depicting angels his mother must have shown him once.

Confusion floods him, the pieces of the accident and the hospital coming together, and finally, the person next to him. It’s not a boy, it’s a girl, a woman. Thin and frail-looking, but _God_ , those eyes…she can’t be that sick.

“You’re awake,” she says softly, and she’s so pale he can see the blood flood her cheeks as she blushes. “Do you want me to call Dig?”

“Dig what?” he croaks out.

“Our nurse,” she explains. “Sorry, I didn't realize you wouldn't know who he is. Are you feeling okay? You want me to call him?”

He shakes his head, still feeling groggy.

“I’m Felicity. Smoak. Felicity Smoak.”

“You always talk this much?” he asks. How can someone be that cheerful in those circumstances?

“Oh, you must feel like crap. Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. It just gets boring at times, and there’s only so many times you can read the newspaper without getting horribly blue. And I mean that as in sad, not blue, _blue_ , which I guess its a terrible thing to mean in a hospital. There _could_ be people choking somewhere for all I-Dig!”

“Good afternoon Felicity,” Johnny -apparently also named ‘Dig’- says. “How’s the nausea?”

“Nearly gone,” she replies cheerfully.

“Mr.Queen,” Dig nods.

“Can I be put in a private room?” he asks again, even though he knows the answer. Resentment grows dark and heavy in his gut, and it begs to be let out. “She won’t shut up.” He _wants_ her to hear how much he’d rather be anywhere else but in this godforsaken hospital.

A small ' _Oh'_ comes from his side, and he knows he’s succeeded.

“I know you don’t want to be here, Mr.Queen, but taking it out on the person next to you isn’t going to fix this,” Dig says. “And we’ve already talked about this, there are no private rooms here.”

Oliver hates being made to feel like a brat, and he won't have it.

“I could buy this hospital if I wanted to, you do know that, right?”

Dig looks as if he couldn't be bothered by him, and Oliver’s never felt quite so small.

“Well, until you do that,” Dig grabbed something from underneath his bed. The cold, hard plastic of the bedpan bit him in the ass. “Fill this for me, I’ll be back in a few minutes. And by the way, I called your friend, he was already aware of the accident.”

Oliver’s cheeks flame red. He doesn’t even want to look next to him, so he keeps his eyes fixed on the dull walls.

Felicity Smoak doesn’t try talking to him again.


End file.
